


the right to remain right here with me

by Sroloc_Elbisivni



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Secret Identity, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Eye Trauma, F/M, Friends to Lovers, IDENTITY SHENANIGANS, Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU, RvB Reverse Big Bang, a dog named dog, background four seven niner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 08:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14351811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sroloc_Elbisivni/pseuds/Sroloc_Elbisivni
Summary: Carolina--Freelancer’s Agent Eta or Iota, depending who you ask--meets a charming man on a failed mission, and never expects to see him again.York--Charon’s Agent Foxtrot-12--is delighted when the woman he only had a moment to chat with on a mission before he had to run for his life shows up at the park.Things get more complicated when Carolina is assigned to monitor and contain Agent Foxtrot-12. Not that either of them knows that.





	the right to remain right here with me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece for the Red vs Blue Reverse Big Bang! Yes, the one from November 2017. I know. Believe me, I know.  
> It was inspired by the infinitely patient [pitchscribbles'](pitchscribbles.tumblr.com) wonderful art! That piece is embedded later in the fic and can also be found [here!](http://pitchscribbles.tumblr.com/post/167767996572/my-piece-for-the-rvbficwars-reverse-big-bang) Thanks for letting me step in, and for letting me run away with my own ideas. It was a privilege and pleasure to write for your art.  
> Warning for eye trauma elaborated upon in the end notes.

Carolina swirled her drink around the glass it had come in, lazily, casually. Tried to keep her feelings as smooth as her motions, when internally she was seething furiously.

A _stomach flu._ Of all the—a _stomach flu_ , and the honeypot mission she had been grimly anticipating and preparing for since last month was completely blown, because her target had stayed at home throwing up.

She couldn’t even leave now, because her cover had taken long enough to establish as it was. That meant staying at the party long enough to convince people that she belonged here, and _that_ meant being polite to whatever idiot wandered up and tried to engage her in conversation. Niner wasn’t even available, because she had claimed that if there was no mission, there was no point in Carolina risking notice because of a transmitting earpiece. Carolina still had a transmitter in case she needed to send an emergency signal, but she had a feeling that right now Niner was probably chatting with her girlfriend instead of waiting dutifully on standby.

She downed her glass right as footsteps came up behind her and an exhausted-looking man in a tux flopped into the barstool to her right.

“This seat taken?” He tipped his head towards her, but his eyes stayed fixed on the bottles behind the bar. “Please say no. I mean, I’ll go if you want to be alone but also every other bar has people talking and I really need a drink.”

Carolina hesitated, but the man seemed genuine enough, and she could sympathize with the worn and weary expression dragging on his face. “Help yourself.”

He tossed a two-finger salute in her direction before calling, “Barkeep!”

One of the well-trained well-dressed waiters the hosts of this party had hired by the dozen popped up, looking politely neutral.

“Shot of whiskey. With two olives. Extra tip for no judgment.”

Impressively, the bartender maintained her politely neutral expression while preparing the drink, even as Carolina wrinkled her nose. The man tipped as promised, and then swirled the drink before tossing it down, olives and all.

Carolina had been promised no tip for reserving judgment, so she felt perfectly free to stare and then demand, “ _Why._ ”

The man stilled and then turned to look at her, eyebrows raised and a tiny grin creeping over his lips. “Why what?”

“Olives. In _whiskey_.” Carolina shook her head. “It’s a disgrace to the olives and to the whiskey.”

“Clearly, you have no appreciation for the finer things in life.” That grin was pure mischief.

“Oh, _really_.” She let the cultured tones slide right out of her voice, dropping just enough Southern in there for a really good drawl as she leaned towards him over the counter.

“Uh-huh. Like, for example…” His eyes flicked past her shoulder and caught onto something else that made his face go pale. “Whoops.”

Carolina looked back to see a furious, matronly socialite sweep into the room with a prominent wine stain on the side of her tasteful peach dress, a hapless waiter running alongside and trying to dab at it with a damp cloth. The woman paid no heed to the staff, instead scanning the crowd, face wroth.

“Whoops,” Carolina’s new acquaintance gulped, again.

“Friend of yours?” Carolina asked, turning back with a raised eyebrow. She tried not to grin. She really did.

Her acquaintance, who was _clearly_ trouble, gave an enormously sheepish grin, and ran one hand through his brown hair, causing it to stick out in new and exciting directions. “Ah. I don’t believe she’d say so.”

Carolina actually laughed.

“I hate to cut our budding friendship short, but I would also hate for you to be drawn into my _unfortunate_ misunderstanding. So, I will bid you adieu, and—uh-oh.”

When Carolina looked back this time, the matron was pointing an imperious finger in their direction, and a couple of burly security guards were on the move.

Carolina collected the refill on her wine helpfully provided by the bartender, who was watching the situation with great interest, and offered the man a toast. “I’d suggest less talking, more running.”

“Beautiful and brilliant.” He tossed her a casual salute, and then made a strategic and speedy retreat between the many couples on the dance floor.

The matron swept up to Carolina, practically bristling, allowing the poor waiter to finally catch up and resume salvage attempts on her dress. “That—that— _scoundrel!_ ” It flew off her tongue like a four-letter word. “Who on earth allowed that—that—”

“Scoundrel?” Carolina offered, trying not to smile. “Rogue?”

The glare leveled her direction didn’t have a patch on her father’s, but it could probably strip paint. “And what, precisely, is your association?”

Carolina tipped her wineglass in a placating gesture. “A brief conversation. I didn’t even catch his name.”

And that, she reflected, after the matron had been placated enough to retreat, was something of a shame.

She’d never have been able to pursue it, of course. The only time Carolina ever moved in these circles was for a mission, under an alias. Although unless the man managed a truly spectacular apology to Mrs. Rothschild, he wouldn’t be moving in them long either.

But he had been…interesting. And amusing.

And charming, of course, but charming people were a dime a dozen.

Still. It was something of a shame.

* * *

  


Even though he wasn’t saying anything over the mic, York could practically feel the disapproval radiating off Delta on the drive home.

“What?” York finally asked. “It’s not like you had any _better_ ideas. And I _got_ the data, I might add, even with the target unavailable.”

“ _By causing an interpersonal incident with one of the more influential women in this country’s high society, thus ensuring your chances of successfully infiltrating another event have lowered to almost nothing.”_

York tried not to wince. Delta loved hard numbers. If he was avoiding the figure, it had to be disappointingly low.

“Well, at least I got to have a nice drink with a lovely lady.” The change of subject was maybe a little too abrupt, but it did make D snort.

“ _You didn’t even get her name_.”

York frowned, running back over the events. Drink, chat, escape—“Shit. You’re right.”

“ _Mmm.”_

He flipped on the turn signal, pulling off the highway into the industrial back road complex where the local section of Charon Industries’ more… _surreptitious_ unit was located, trying not to dwell. So he hadn’t gotten her name. She was probably too good for him, anyway, if she was at a party like that. He could fake that kind of class for a bit, but not long enough to really blend in. As dear old dad would happily remind him of whenever the subject of York’s many deficiencies came up.

“ _It is unlikely you would have had the chance to encounter her again, even without the effects of your ill-advised diversion. Your cover was not designed for long-term use.”_ D popped up like a bad echo of York’s own thoughts, and he tried not to sigh. It wasn’t his partner’s fault the evening had turned into such a mess.

“Of course not.” York pulled into one of many driveways leading to inconspicuous, interchangeable business warehouses and units, heading for the garage. Right now, he was just ready to have tonight over and done with. “Any idea where I’ll be going next, then?”

“ _It would be speculation only. But…I would recommend buying groceries. I suspect you’ll be staying in the area for a while.”_

“Of course I will.” And ‘staying in the area’ was code for ‘running interference with other agencies.’

And since most groups around here didn’t tend to keep anyone _interesting_ at home, York would probably have to resign himself to a dull stretch of playing catch-me-if-you-can with some low-rung newbie.

What a shame.

* * *

 

Carolina’s podcast ran out halfway through her run in the park, so she paused it and stopped on a bench long enough to breathe deep, leaning back and watching the sky.

It had been ten days since her last mission. Not that she was counting.

There was some buzz from Charon’s space that they were hunkering down, which meant Freelancer was hunkering down, which meant Carolina was bored, bored, _bored_.

Okay, maybe she was counting.

She contemplated getting up, but getting up meant she would have to finish her run, which meant she would have to go back to her apartment, which meant she would have to buy groceries, which meant she would have to put them away and make dinner before her shift, which meant that she would eat and then spend however long staring at a computer screen and filing—

Carolina could have sat there for a long time thinking about going through the rest of her day instead of actually doing it if it hadn’t been for a very inquisitive, whuffly nose poking at her knee.

“Hello there,” she said, blinking down at a dog that looked to have some distant relation to a Golden Retriever. It wagged at her, tongue lolling out in a distinctly doglike grin. “You’re in the wrong place.”

“ _Dee!”_ a vaguely familiar voice shouted. “Dammit, don’t—get back here!”

The apparently named Dee had no interest whatsoever in listening, continuing to sniff inquisitively at Carolina’s pockets before she pushed it away, just in time for a vaguely familiar figure to run up and clip on a leash.

“ _Bad_ dog,” he scolded. “Bad dog. I’m so sorry, he has absolutely no manners.”

“It’s fine,” Carolina said, raising an eyebrow. This was not who she had expected to run into. “But shouldn’t you be terrorizing high society somewhere?”

The man who had to make such an exciting exit from Carolina’s most recent mission blinked at her for only a moment before grinning in recognition. “Oh, only on weekends.” He shifted the leash to one hand, shortening it to keep the dog from wandering too far, and extended his now-free one to her. “I’m York.”

“Carolina. And Dee? Would that be like John Dee?” Carolina had a soft spot for John Dee—there had been a phase in her teenage years where she had recorded her daily observations using more than a few of the mathematician’s codes.

“No, actually, it’s short for, uh, Delta.” York glanced down and fiddled with the leash, tugging to make sure it was attached correctly. Carolina started automatically running through the agents she knew of who had left Freelancer, because even smart spies tended to leave obvious clues in the dumbest places. “He’s my friend’s dog, I got to name him, I was a bit of a Classics nerd at one point.”

….Or maybe she needed to remember that there were other people in the world besides spies.

“Whereas now, you are the pinnacle of sophistication,” Carolina commented dryly.

The conversation continued to flow as comfortably as their first one, until only a very impatient dog who was straining at the leash to continue his walk broke it up.

Carolina went back to her run with a far better attitude than she had started it,.

The mood seemed to bode well for the rest of her day, because when she got to work that night there was a file on her desk on a Charon agent who had started operating in the area and would need to be contained—or barring that, neutralized.

Finally. Something to _do_. This Foxtrot-12 would never know what hit him.

* * *

 

York dragged Dog home, finally, after they had stopped at what felt like every tree in the park. He hadn’t even cared, because he was too busy thinking about green eyes and red hair and a bright grin.

She had a _name_. He knew her name! And she jogged in the park! Like a regular person!

Delta was working in the kitchen, and stopped long enough to raise a disapproving eyebrow.

“What?” York asked, suddenly nervous. He had taken out the trash that morning, hadn’t he? There shouldn’t be anything for Delta to be mad at him about, roommate-wise, and Delta tended to save work problems for work.

“You were the one who gave my dog a ridiculous name,” Delta said, pointedly. “The least you could do is own up to it, instead of stealing mine.”

York hadn’t been mature enough to admit to a lovely lady in the park that he was walking a dog named Dog, and he wasn’t mature enough to admit to his roommate that maybe it had been a bad choice of name, so he chose to instead ask, “When did you have time to bug me again?” He thought he had gotten rid of all the listening devices.

“I didn’t,” Delta said mildly, turning back to his computer. “I bugged Dog.”

York looked down at Dee, who wagged at him. “Traitor,” he said half-heartedly, bending down to unclip the leash.

Dee just licked him in the face, happily.

* * *

 

Carolina’s night started off with a stakeout.

Freelancer didn’t maintain too many local facilities, but those they did tended to be extremely important. Like a research facility on the business side of town, kept safe behind a bland “Think Tank Coworking” logo. It was well situated to keep an eye on any other local happenings.

Officially, Freelancer knew nothing about any Charon buildings other than their headquarters, and vice versa. Under that polite fiction of silk lay the very pointed reality that a secret agency who didn’t keep tabs on their competition and/or allies wouldn’t last long at all. So Carolina knew very well that Charon tended to station _their_ agents in the business district in the local Styx art gallery.

Hargrove’s flare for the dramatic was going to get his agents killed, but that wasn’t Carolina’s problem. She just let herself onto the roof of Freelancer’s office building, moved over two buildings, and set up a sniper’s nest. The rifle was positioned for impact over the doorway of Charon’s building and prepped for remote firing. Right next to it, she set up a video camera, and braced a few more things to make a passable silhouette.

“Eta is in position,” she murmured to Niner over her comm. “Iota moving now.”

“ _Copy that, Iota. Keep an eye out, gallery closes in ten minutes.”_

Carolina used to have a partner. She tried not to think about it much, because Wash was gone, and she wasn’t angry, she couldn’t be, because she had been pushing him for so long to take on more responsibility of his own and getting the Epsilon designation had been _huge_ for him, and it wasn’t her fault that he had only been able to run two missions before everything went wrong.

The shrinks had told her that, when Niner had made her go see them by refusing to let her out on missions until she stopped dodging her psych appointments. She hadn’t convinced herself yet, but she had to prove she was making progress. So now she just didn’t think about how she used to have a partner.

Carolina and Wash had always traded off on designations anyways, so it wasn’t hard for Carolina to just start answering to both. She was more than capable enough to run two personas on mission, with Niner occasionally using the computer systems to lay down more trails and help the deception. It made infiltration easier too, when people were keeping an eye out for a pair of people and not expecting a single operative.

Carolina was good at her job, and only getting better. She didn’t _need_ anyone else. And it was safer, that way, when no one had to try and keep up with her.

Dwelling on the past wouldn’t help her now, anyways. So she let Iota take over and strolled down the street, pulling out a cigarette to help her cover as she approached a likely nook.

“Whoop!” There was a yelp, and Carolina drew back as the bright ember of someone else’s cigarette fell to the ground. “Ah, sorry, I was just—”

“It’s fine,” Carolina said, automatically, before voice recognition took over. “I was just—” Her memory caught up to her, and she stopped and squinted. “York?”

The man she had just run into earlier that day stepped out of the shadows, a sheepish grin on his face. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” He peered down at the cigarette in her hand. “You smoke?”

Carolina considered keeping her cover, and then discarded the notion. She didn’t really want to have to scrub her mouth out after this and lies were easy to come by. “Not really. It’s a good excuse to take a break, but I hate the taste.” She slid the tube back into her pocket. “Mind sharing the space?”

“Not if you don’t.” His eyes were gleaming in the faint light, before he stepped back and blended into the shadows. His battered brown jacket blended pretty well, but not as well as Carolina’s own dark green as she joined him.

Instead of lighting up again, he just pulled out a flip-top lighter and started messing with it. Carolina didn’t mind the lack of smoke, but the lighter proved almost worse, with its incessant clicking. Even Niner was picking it up by now.

 _“We’re not having network problems, are we?”_ Her voice was a little too amused. “ _Or…networking problems, in your case?_ ”

Carolina sighed and didn’t respond to the bait, half-lidding her eyes as she watched the gallery across the street. Someone had to leave soon.

“I always hated this part of town at night,” York commented, pulling her out of her reverie.

“Really?” Carolina kept her own voice very dry, hoping his chat wouldn’t take too long.

“Mmhm. It gets dead too quick. All the good little businessmen head home, and there’s not enough variety or entertainment to bring anyone else in.”

“So what brings you here?”

“Me? Oh, I’m a good little businessman, of course.”

Carolina was on-mission enough that she could have repressed the little chuckle sneaking up, if she wanted, but she let it out anyways. She was in a tolerably good mood, and maybe if he got a reaction York would wander up and let her finish her job.

He took it as an expression of doubt, and forged ahead. “No, really. Five-to-nine, paperwork filing, all that jazz.” He sighed, still playing with the lighter. “Family business, at dear old dad’s behest.”

Well. Carolina wasn’t unfamiliar with how _that_ could go.

 _“Seriously, are you sure there isn’t any interference?”_ Niner asked, again. “ _Or am I not hallucinating and you really are still talking to that random guy?_ ”

Carolina pursed her lips, but Niner had a point, so the next time York went to flick the cap of the lighter open, she grabbed it with two fingers and plucked it out of his hands. “That’s enough of that.”

He didn’t seem particularly angry. “You know, you could have just asked.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Carolina slid it into her pocket. “You could just ask for it back.”

“But I don’t need it right now,” York pointed out. “I might need it tomorrow, though. Around…noon?”

Carolina let a grin tug at her face where he couldn’t see. “Well. I guess you’ll have to find it.” She pushed off the wall and strode away, on a route that would take her past the gallery.

“Meet me in the park?” He was calling after her, something honest and hopeful in his tone.

“ _I kinda hope you’re silent because you’re flipping him off right now instead of doing what I think you’re doing,”_ Niner admitted over the comm.

Carolina lowered her hand, relaxing it out of a thumbs-up. “Maybe.”

Niner’s sigh was very long-suffering.

Carolina glanced at the door as she walked by and frowned at the “ _Gone Fishing”_ sign tacked over the hours. The lights were still on, but nobody was home.

“Gallery’s still open, but it looks like they’re not using the front door anymore. Eta repositioning.”

Carolina got set up on the other side of the building, but the rest of the night proved equally unfruitful.

If she was being honest with herself, reaching down into her pocket to rub the smooth case of the lighter, the rest of the night proved much _less_ fruitful.

She made it home before sunrise, making sure to set her alarm for ten-thirty. She’d need enough time to shower, write a report, and make it to the park by noon.

* * *

 

They kept meeting up at the park around lunchtime, to York’s—and Dog’s, who got to go along—delight. The first few times were just brief conversations, but eventually extended into lunch. York would hesitate to call them _dates,_ because they were rarely formal, and just felt like natural extensions of what they were already doing. They would recommend each other restaurants, or small take-out places, and walk over that way, and happen to order right after each other, and happen to sit down to eat together so they could continue their conversations.

As the year turned toward summer, and the weather got warmer, York started leaving Dog at home so he and Carolina could find places to eat inside. He also started checking his own clothes for bugs a lot more frequently, because Delta had started to give him very measuring looks when he thought York wasn’t paying attention, and that couldn’t mean anything good.

York wasn’t letting him butt in, though. Not that he didn’t like his roommate and all, but where he and Delta went together, eventually Charon caught up with them. Even now was proof of that—York had thought he could be free of his father when he struck out on his own, when he met Delta and felt like the two of them were enough to take on the world. Delta himself had cut ties with the agency he had started out working for, and knew how to keep them off his trail. But one thing had led to another, and the two of them drew attention, and here they were.

Stuck working under Hargrove again. Just like York’s younger, dumber self had sworn he would never do. That self had had to learn to suck it up so they could become older and less dumb.

Speaking of his younger and dumber self, York kind of wanted to go back a month and a half to when he had been thinking that he would be bored running interference with other agencies and punch himself in the face. Work was _exhausting_.

Freelancer had apparently pinned a pair of solid agents specifically on him. Not any of the other agents, just him. Every ops mission, every surveillance, every phishing expedition he had tried to run since getting back had been absolutely and utterly foiled by a duo Delta had eventually been able to identify as Eta and Iota.

Not that it had _helped,_ because York had still never so much as caught a glimpse of either of them. The amazing vanishing wonder twins were ruining his life and his case record and he still didn’t know who to make a voodoo doll of.

He tried making this complaint to Delta and had only gotten a blank stare in response.

“Carolina would have laughed,” York muttered, petulantly.

“Carolina would likely have not heard the end of the story, being otherwise preoccupied by demanding to know why you had been lying to her about your work,” Delta responded, returning to his own assignment.

York had no good response, so he rolled his eyes, shoved the thumb drive he had spent his desk duty compiling digitizations onto, and stood to grab his raincoat. “Anyway, that’s me for the night. Happy Fourth of July, good luck avoiding the drunks on your walk home.”

Delta’s mouth curved even further downwards. “I was intending to avoid them altogether by remaining here until morning. By which point, the only unpleasant person with a hangover I should be likely to encounter is you.”

 _Ouch_. Burned again. Clearly, this conversation was going nowhere good for York, so he maturely stuck out his tongue and left.

Happily, York’s raincoat that had been so necessary when he left for work earlier that day was no longer needed. The rain was gone, the clouds were clearing to reveal a slowly darkening sky, and it should be a perfect night for fireworks.

Fantastic.

* * *

 

York knew where Carolina lived, because they had walked each other home more than once, so after he had picked up the necessary supplies he knew just where to go.

She answered the door with a raised eyebrow and skeptical expression all ready to go. York felt his grin grow even wider.

“Great, you’re home! Let’s go.”

“I have work,” she pointed out, but didn’t shut the door in his face.

“You’re at home.”

“I brought work home.”

York held up the picnic basket in one hand. “And I brought gyros from that one food truck off Fifth Street. Also cookies. And juice.” Because he knew she hated soda.

She looked very, very tempted. York tried to look as charming as possible.

“Come on, Carolina,” he wheedled. “The rain has stopped, I know a place with a view, it’s a great night for a picnic.”

She sighed, finally. “Fine. But we’re taking my bike.”

She said it like she expected it to be a dealbreaker, but York’s grin just got bigger. “You have a _bike?_ ”

Now she did shut the door in his face, but she reappeared a minute later with her leather jacket on and a couple of helmets in hand. She tossed one of them to him before she locked the door. “Make sure that fits before we go.”

York obligingly pulled it on and knocked a couple of times on the outside. “Fits fine.”

“Excellent.” She slid on her own helmet, tucking her ponytail up into it. “Follow me.”

York would always be ready to do that.

* * *

 

Carolina made York give her clear and full directions before setting out, because a surprise would be no fun if they never made it there because she couldn’t hear him tell her they had missed a turn. He complied with little protest, and climbed on right behind her once the food was packed up.

Someone had clearly trained being a passenger into him, because he held onto her hips professionally without ever compromising her posture or personal space and leaned into the turns with long experience. It let her focus on the route, and on navigating through the traffic that seemed thicker than usual. Was something going on?

His directions led them out of the city limits proper, and up a gentle slope that tapered off into an overlook parking lot. It didn’t end there either, apparently, because once they were parked he trekked them onto a grassy incline that offered a very nice view of the city spread out beneath them. She let out a low whistle, impressed despite herself.

“Pretty, right?” York asked, looking over at her. “Here, help me spread this out.”

The grass wasn’t that wet, but the blanket he spread was still welcome when she sat down.

…Huh. He had brought a _blanket._ This wasn’t just grabbing a bunch of food and inviting her along. This took planning. And foresight. And consideration.

Shit, was this a _date_?

She eyed York more suspiciously after that, but he didn’t behave any differently than on their many lunches together, passing her one of the takeout boxes and striking up a light conversation that she didn’t have to think too hard about.

Carolina could have asked him, probably, and gotten an honest answer—he’d never lied to her before—but she didn’t want to. Not yet.

Not until she knew what she wanted the answer to be.

Towards the end of the meal, he started checking his watch more and more, and Carolina felt obnoxiously slighted.

“Waiting for something?” she snarked at him, snatching a cookie out of his hand.

He grinned sheepishly at her, pulling another dessert out of the box. “Yeah. The show’s supposed to start at nine.”

That was a surprise to Carolina. “What show?”

He squinted at her, and then started grinning.

“What?” she demanded, when he didn’t answer. “York, _what show_?”

“Oh, no,” he said, still grinning. “If you forgot what day it was, I’m not spoiling the surprise.”

Carolina blinked. True, she was a bit thrown off from staying up for thirty-six hours straight to try and hunt down Foxtrot-12’s safe-house, but…”It’s the third, isn’t it?”

York just kept grinning, but the explosion going off behind him not only answered her question handily, but gave her the vindictive pleasure of seeing him flinch out of his skin in surprise. She had no shame in laughing at him.

He relaxed enough to grin pretty quick. “Happy Fourth of July, Carolina!”

The two of them packed up and migrated over to the side of the hill for a better view, and Carolina had to admit it was pretty extraordinary—the city was spread out below them like a twinkling patchwork quilt, and the fireworks were blooming like flowers of sparks against the velvet-dark sky.

It was beautiful, in a quiet, simple way she never saw enough of. She saw beautiful things on missions, of course, but they were always rich and gaudy and glittering like they had everything to prove. And they made her act the same way.

This was stark, and stunning, and she didn’t have to memorize any mission statements or cover or be anything except herself to see it.

She felt more than saw York’s hand settle on the grass next to her, just on the edge of her space. It didn’t feel heavy, or like it had the weight of an expected answer behind it.

It was just a question. One that Carolina could choose to answer.

So she chose, and set her hand down on top of his, and let herself smile.

<img-align="center" />

It might have been a flight of fancy to think she could feel him smiling back, but he was when she looked over—not big and bright and convincing, but small and soft and somehow happier than she’d ever seen.

Carolina leaned over, cautiously, because she’d spent her life learning how to use her body to fight and flirt and communicate, but she’d somehow never learned how to do something like this any way other than slow. So slowly, cautiously, carefully, she pecked him on the cheek, and breathed softly in his ear, “Thanks.”

And because when she leaned back, he was still smiling, and said “Anytime,” as sincere as a painless knife straight to her heart, well.

She kissed him again. On the lips this time.

* * *

 

The next week was one of the better ones in Carolina’s life.

Her mission was going well—even though she still hadn’t been able to lay eyes on Foxtrot-12, she was learning his patterns. Cutting him off, slowly, across the dark streets of the city at night. Tightening the net with one severed connection after another.

Technically her mission requirements would have been satisfied by not interfering with him until he tried to move, but this was just more challenging. More satisfying. More _fun._

And when she wasn’t at work, well. There was York.

She hadn’t given him a key to her place, but he knew what route she jogged, and she kept finding him waiting on her way back, lounging at some outdoor café with his phone and some kind of disgustingly sugary coffee drink. He’d join her on her walk back if she stopped for him, invite her over to his place or out to dinner.

Usually, though, they only made it as far back as her place. That was fine with her. She wasn’t ready to try and exist in someone else’s space. Probably wouldn’t be for a while. Her own space, and neutral ground—that was infinitely preferable.

Carolina never did ask York what he had been doing at the party where they had first met, and he never asked her. That was probably for the best. She didn’t want to lie to him. Her entire job notwithstanding.

York could talk up a storm when he wanted, but Carolina had never had anyone who understood her silences so well.

So for a week, things were wonderful. And then the order came down.

* * *

 

“York.”

York stopped halfway through taking off Dog’s leash, blinking at Delta. He was blocking the rest of the hallway, prime confrontation position. And the jammer they hid on the coat rack was running, bless his paranoid little heart. “…Dee.”

“What have you done?”

“Um.” York blinked, running through a long list of answers Delta would not be happy with, before settling on, “Nothing illegal lately?”

Delta’s suspicious look intensified.

“Seriously, nothing. Eta and Iota have been absolutely blue-balling me.”

“Hm.” Delta did not look happy. “Well. That does not explain why Freelancer has handed down a kill order on your head.”

The words hit hard, but not as hard as they might have. York had been caught in inter-agency bullshit before. “Huh.”

“Though it does explain,” Delta said, pointedly, staring him down, “why Charon failed to pass such information along to me.”

York grasped the implications immediately. Charon was done with his nonsense. If he wanted to live through this, he’d have to do it on his own.

And then they’d probably come after him again, because he’d proved himself capable. Fuck you too, Dad.

There was no point asking how Delta had figured it out on his own, the man had his own sources of information. York was just lucky enough he cared enough to pass what he learned along.

York breathed in, and then out again, and then in again for good measure. “Okay. How long can you give me?”

“Five minutes.” Delta held out York’s go-bag, which lived almost entirely prepped at the back of his closet. York opened it and peered inside to see his meds and a fresh stash of protein bars had already been thrown on top.

So now the only thing left was to go.

York rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. “Is my personal phone still safe?”

Delta hesitated, but answered honestly. “For one call…maybe.”

It would have to be enough. York mustered up enough energy for a weak grin. “See you on the other side, Dee.”

Dog perked up at his side at the name, looking back and forth between his owner and his primary walker. His tail was wagging, but it slowed and stopped when neither of them looked at him.  

“York…” Delta’s pause was heavy with too many things unsaid, but finally he settled on, “Stay safe.”

York nodded, handed Delta the keys, and left.

* * *

 

He called Carolina on the way to his safehouse, the one he was pretty sure Eta and Iota hadn’t found yet because he hadn’t been there in six months.

“ _York?”_

“Carolina, hey.” He walked down the street at the pace of the crowd, shifting and turning with the motion of the tide of people. Rule one of running away, try not to look like a person who was supposed to get caught.

“ _I’m at work now, I’m really not supposed to talk, I’ll call—_ ”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, but it’s urgent.” The mental clock in his head was ticking down, tracking the upcoming end of Delta’s safety net. Half a minute and he’d have to start dodging cameras. “Something’s come up. Not because of you, not because of us, but I have to go away for awhile. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“… _what?_ ”

“I’m really sorry, I’d stay if I could, but I can’t. I—this is my shit. I can’t drag you into it, Carolina.”

“ _York._ ” There was an edge to her voice. “ _You’re not making sense_.”

“I don’t have time to explain, I’m…sorry. I’m so sorry.” There was the apartment building; two more blocks and he could barricade himself in, plan his next move. “Look, if someone comes up to you, asking about me—don’t tell them anything. Say whatever you have to, but don’t tell them you know me. Say I robbed you, say you dumped me—whatever. Don’t trust them. Unless it’s Delta, tall guy with a ponytail and glasses, he’s cool.”

“ _I thought that was your dog_.”

York laughed, but it came out funny. Great. Hyperventilating. “It’s—the dog’s name is Dog, I lied, I lied about a lot of things and I’m so sorry, Carolina. I never meant to lie about you. This—this has been amazing. You’re amazing. You deserved so much better, and I’m sorry.” Lull in traffic. Stop to scan the rooftops before proceeding. “This—I don’t know if I’ll see you again, so I have to tell you, okay?”

* * *

 

Carolina adjusted her grip on the cell phone, and peered out of the doorway, looking up and down the street for any sign of Foxtrot-12. This was his safehouse, it had to be, there was no doubt in her mind. Agent Gamma had confirmed it for her yesterday, not long before the order to neutralize had gone live.

Eta’s sniper rifle setup was rigged on the roof, aimed over the heads of any civilians so she could get the crowd to scatter at the right time with no casualties. Foxtrot-12 would be along to spring her trap any second now, but York was being weird enough that she couldn’t just hang up and go about her day. “York—”

“ _This—I don’t know if I’ll see you again, so I have to tell you, okay?_ ”

“Tell me what, York?” She turned around, looking down the street, and saw York half a second before he saw her.

He had a bag slung over his shoulder, and his phone in his hand, and an expression on his face like the world had ended even before he saw her and came to a stop three feet away.

They stared at each other for a long, long moment, before he said, “ _I love you_ ,” and the words were over her phone and in her ears and York was meeting her eyes and _springing her trap_ and—

* * *

 

York stared at Carolina, dressed in a hoodie and high-top sneakers like he had never seen her before, and let himself say the three words that had been rattling around in his head ever since he left Delta’s apartment, and—

* * *

 

A loud crack.

A scream like the ending of the world.

Silence.

* * *

 

The first thing Carolina processed was the phone falling from York’s numb fingers, even before the gunshot, even before the way his head jerked to the side and oh god the _blood_ —

Her own phone clattered to the ground as Niner, roused by the gunshot overriding Carolina’s comm deactivation, demanded to know what the hell was going on. Carolina ignored her, focused on ripping off her hoodie and balling it up to press over York’s eye socket as she dragged him into cover because _screw_ the mission, this was—

 _The mission_.

She jerked her head up to see the fake silhouette she had constructed for Eta _stand up_ and run away over the rooftops, and she didn’t need the gun to go off again to feel something stab her right through the heart.

Compromised. She had been goddamn _compromised_.

More than that, she had been _used_.

Carolina yanked out her comm and threw it to the ground before dragging York to his feet. The trajectory of the bullet had continued past his eye and into the wall, he wasn’t dead yet, which meant he would have to hold his own goddamn wound while she got them the _hell_ out of here.

York groaned about it, but she slung his right arm over her shoulder and shoved at the other one until he reached up to press the wadded up fabric into his bleeding socket. The civilians had all run screaming, which meant she had just enough clear space to move before the police got here.

And only one place she could go.

* * *

 

York would never quite remember what came after the gunshot, when he tried.

He knew that Carolina had somehow gotten them halfway across town, and somewhere along the way there might have been a car involved, but most of what he remembered was an awareness of too much pain to think and Carolina hitting him whenever he almost passed out. There was also the sound of her constantly talking, muttering threats and warnings and at one point begging him to “Stay with me, York, stay with me, don’t you dare—don’t take your hand off that fucking eye, York, you want me to take out the other one?”

He didn’t take his hand off the eye until he was suddenly lying down on a couch and there was a needle sinking into his thigh and a moment later Carolina’s face was swimming in his vision, her hands tugging at the blood-soaked fabric on his face.

“Nope,” York groaned, and oh, the pain was leaving, that was nice. “Can’t take’t off. Gotta stay on.”

“York. It’s fine. We’re safe for now. I need to look at this.”

He trusted her, letting her drag his hand off his face and pull away the ruined hoodie. There was a rush of cool air on his face, but when he blinked, nothing happened. Only his right eye was providing input.

Huh. That was probably bad.

Everything felt very loose and floaty and far away. Carolina must have the good drugs. Yay.

“Where’re we?” he asked, as something cold prodded at the left side of his face.

“A safehouse. Does that hurt?”

“Nnnnnnah. ‘S there…anyone lookin’ for you?” That would be bad. Anyone looking for him would be bad too, but they’d already found him. He giggled.

“Stop that.” Carolina patted his cheek to get him to turn his head. “No one who’ll find me. The only other person who knows about this place was my partner. And he’s dead.”

“Oh.” York felt really bad about that. “Sorry. Guess I was…rebound.” He almost giggled again, but didn’t. “Crappy rebound.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Something cool brushed against his eye socket. Ooh, the _inside_ of his eye socket. That was bad. But funny. But no giggling. Oh, Carolina was talking again. “Wash was my friend. We worked together. We were close, but…never like that.”

“Huh.” York wanted to hug her, to get her something to drink and tell her stories, anything to distract her from how sad she sounded. But everything was floaty, and far away, and his eye was probably gone and

Between one breath and the next, York dropped off.

* * *

 

Carolina finished cleaning and bandaging the wound after York passed out. She was no medic, but had picked up a few tricks. Besides, she didn’t think there was much a medic could do for him anyways.

It had stopped bleeding, at least, but his left iris was just a bloody gash now. There was no way York was seeing out of that eye again.

And someone had used her gun to do it.

Carolina packed cotton into the socket, stretched a butterfly bandage over it, and used medical tape to get it to stay. She cleaned up automatically, clinically. She tidied away the med kit, threw away the bloodied gear, and washed her hands.

And then she sat back on her heels and tried to remember how breathing worked.

She hadn’t been planning to _kill_ Foxtrot-12, even before she found out who he was. She’d been keeping him contained just fine, and reading up on missions he’d been associated with in the meantime. She’d thought that they might be able to get him away from Hargrove, or at least use him as a hostage, so she wanted to bring him in.

Someone hadn’t trusted her to do that. Someone had _used her gun_.

And if it was who she thought it was, he hadn’t done it of his own accord.

Wyoming—Agent Gamma—was a lot like the sniper rifle he used. Perfectly harmless until someone else pulled the trigger.

And now they were here, in a safehouse she hadn’t set foot in since before Wash had died, since a time when she was only half the mind behind Eta-and-Iota and not both personas. They were here, and Freelancer was no doubt pinning the attempted assassination on her, because officially they still had a truce with Charon.

Carolina got to her feet and went in search of coffee.

The safehouse was sort of a dump, but not _too_ horrible. She and Wash had chosen it as a last-resort measure, for when all their other bridges were burned. It was comfortable enough to live in, and more importantly, there were supplies, including coffee.

Carolina would have liked alcohol, but she needed to stay up and take the watch while York slept his drugs off. So coffee it was.

She dug out the electric kettle and set it to boil, putting out a mug and a one-cup filter before hunting through the cabinets.

The coffee wasn’t where she thought she had left it, which was annoying. Her memory must be going.

Carolina yanked the tin open, not bothering to restrain her frustration, and something white went fluttering out from where it had been pinned beneath the lid. She measured out the coffee before bending down to see what it was, more intent on getting her drink than on any odd distractions.

It turned out to be a note.

The kettle clicked itself off, and then slowly went cold, Carolina paying no attention to it while she read the note again and again and again.

* * *

 

_Carolina—_

_You’re still paying rent on this place, so I can only hope you’ll find this note eventually. I’m sorry it took so long, but there’s no other way I can be sure won’t be intercepted._

_I got out of the base before it blew. Not by much, but enough to survive. It’s a miracle that I even managed that much, because by now I’m damn sure that I wasn’t supposed to. Epsilon’s missions were always meant to fail. I’ve learned that by now. I’ve learned a lot of things._

_Freelancer is crumbling. It’s rotting from the inside out, and more of it is going to fall every day. Dr. Church has his own agenda, and it doesn’t care how many agents have to die for him to get it. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I’m sorry I can’t run to your apartment now and drag you away from it all. I’m sorry you had to think I was dead, but it was necessary._

_Someone found me after the crash. Several someones, actually. They’re…unorthodox, but they know what they’re doing, and what they’re doing is taking down the people who broke them and used them and their friends as nothing more than pawns in their fucking game. Not just Freelancer, but Charon too. They’re good people, or at least they’re trying, and the only reason they’re still alive is because no one knows they exist. I can’t compromise them. I probably shouldn’t even be writing about them, but I trust you, Carolina. You’re so much better than…everyone, always, but especially the mess you’re surrounded by. You always have been._

_If you need it, if you’re where I was—alone and with all your bridges burned but still too stubborn and angry and fierce to lie down and die like they want you to—call me. I know someone who can help._

_-Wash_

_P.S.: if not Carolina, uh…ignore this message._

* * *

  


It took Carolina three hours and two cups of coffee before she called the number scrawled at the bottom of the note.

She didn’t even have to go out for a burner phone, because it turned out York had a prepaid one stuffed in his dash bag. All Carolina had to do was sit on a kitchen chair she’d dragged out to the living room and stare at the couch.

York was sleeping, now, his chest rising and falling in a steady, peaceful rhythm. It was a reassuring sight, but a complicated one.

He was alive. She had to keep him that way. It was a question of logistics and allies and debts owed and clearing her name, not feelings.

It couldn’t be a question of feelings, because right now Carolina’s head was too much of a tangled mess to figure out what exactly those feelings were supposed to be.  

She slid her chair closer to the couch, and stared harder at York’s bandages, because it was too soon to check on them again but she had to make sure he was still _okay—_

He came to with one of her hands hovering over his face and sleepily snorted up at her. She flinched and whacked him in the nose.

“Owwwwwww,” he groaned, voice still thick with sleep. “Wha’s that for?”

“Accident. Sorry. Go back to—” She hesitated. “York. Do you have anywhere to go?”

“’fter this? Mmm. Nah.” His head lolled to the side so he could see her. “I…m’dad’s given up on me. Again. Hall’uyah.”

“Your dad?”

York stuck his tongue between his lips and made a weak raspberry. “Malcolm Hargrove. Big dick.” He made a face, and changed it to, “Tiny dick. Big…jerk.”

Carolina smiled, and pulled her hands in closer to herself. “If…you could take him down…would you?”

His one eye blinked up at her. “You off’rin?”

“Yeah. I’d help.”

“Well. ‘Nythin’ with you.” His eye slid closed sleepily, and his breathing deepened into an occasional soft snore.

Carolina called the number.

It rang twice before a young woman picked up, her voice perky and with a slight lisp.

“ _Chorus Consolidated Limited, front desk, how may I help you today sir-and-or-madam?”_

“I’m looking for Wash.”

“ _Uh…I don’t know if we have anyone here—”_

“Tell him it’s Boss.”

There was a pause, some distant hissing like frantic whispering, and then a nervous “ _Hold please!”_

Carolina waited through three and a half minutes of looped Mexican ranchero music, watching York’s chest rise and fall. Eventually, the line clicked, and a voice she had never thought she’d hear again said, cautiously, “… _Boss?”_

“You know where to find me. Bring transport.”

* * *

 

York woke up to the sound of an opening door, and heard Carolina say “I thought you were dead.” Her tone was flatter than he’d ever heard it before.

Someone he didn’t know said, “I know. I’m—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Who’s she?”

“Someone who can help.” That was also someone he didn’t know. “May we talk inside?”

York could tell the drugs were starting to wear off, because his head was killing him, but he struggled into a sitting-up position anyway. He ended up in a prime position to see a woman with a tufted head of brown hair and a neat suit walk in, followed by a tall blonde man who looked like he hadn’t slept in a month or so.

The woman stopped and looked him up and down, then stepped forward and extended her hand. “Vanessa Kimball.”

York reached for her hand and missed by about an inch, so he tried to pass it off by bumping the backs of their hands together like a secret handshake. “York.”

She rolled with it, nodding at his eye. “That looks unpleasant.”

“Eh, it’s all right,” York said before he knew what he was doing, and then he started laughing. Carolina was burying her face in her hands and the strange dude looked very confused. “Sorry. I’m on the good drugs. What’s going on?”

Kimball clasped her hands and considered him, and then turned to Carolina. “I’ll assume you intended for both of you to consider this offer.”

“Yes. He’s normally more competent than this. He’d be an asset to your group.”

“What group?” York asked, looking between Carolina and the two new people. “Wait, you were serious?”

“York, shut up,” she said, nicely. “The note said you could help. Since Charon and Freelancer are still standing, I’ll assume in turn that you need all the help you can get.”

“You would be correct.” Kimball sighed. “We’re doing what we can, but Charon and Freelancer have been at this game for a very long time. Some days, it’s taking everything we have just to keep up with them, much less edge one step ahead.”

“That’s a lot to admit to people who don’t work for you. What if we take that information and run?”

Kimball’s glace back at York indicated that she didn’t think they’d get very far—which, fair—but she was polite enough not to say so, and instead admit, “Wash trusts you.”

“Does he.” Ooh. Carolina was _maaaad._

York didn’t realize he’d said that out loud until they all turned to look at him. Then there was nothing he could do but cover his mouth and wave them on.

“Yes,” Kimball said, moving on as though nothing had happened. “He does. Enough to leave you a dead drop note without telling me and convince me eighteen months later to risk everything to come meet you in person.”

Carolina turned to look at the man in the corner, who looked like he wanted to shrink back into the wall. York couldn’t blame him.

“I really am sorry,” Wash said, quietly.

Carolina ignored him, turning back to Kimball. “What can you give us?”

“We can fake your deaths, drop you off the grid. Give you the chance to personally help right some of the wrongs your former agencies have done. We can provide tech, equipment, backup.”

It was a good offer. It was a very good offer. York let Carolina handle it because no one ever made him good offers so the drugs had to be seriously affecting him.

“Why.”

“Like I said. Washington trusts you. I trust him.”

Wash, in the background, ducked his head.

“Trust is hard to come by in this game,” Carolina said, and even though she was talking to Kimball, she was looking right at York.

York deserved that, probably.

“We think it shouldn’t have to be.” Kimball didn’t add anything else, just waited, watching both of them.

Carolina was still looking at York, like she was waiting for something too.

Oh, Was she waiting for him?

“I like it,” he said, pulling his hand away from his mouth to answer.

“You like olives in your whiskey, you shouldn’t get to have opinions,” she muttered, but she was looking back at Kimball with a new steel in her eyes. “Deal.”

Kimball smiled, and it was just more sincere than any smile had a right to be. “I look forward to working with both of you.”

* * *

 

“So,” York said, when they were in the car on the way to Chorus’ mysterious headquarters. “I shouldn’t get to have opinions?”

Carolina pushed him against the window. “You’re on drugs and missing an eye. Go to sleep.”

He got a ridiculous dopey grin and flopped back against her shoulder. “I like you.”

“Not love anymore?” Carolina shifted around so she could buckle his seatbelt.

“That too. But I like you. That’s a good opinion.”

“Fine.” Carolina settled back into her seat. “You get to have opinions if you go to sleep.”

“Mmm. You too.”

“I’ll sleep when we get there.”

York nestled into her shoulder and sighed. “Kay. Love you.”

Carolina hesitated, looked up to where Wash and Kimball were having a quiet conversation in the front seat, and then dropped a kiss in York’s hair. “You too.”

 

* * *

 

_A few months later_

Carolina was seated at the bar, idly contemplating her glass of wine. She raised it to her lips, looking over the top to study the room.

Her target wasn’t here yet, but that hardly meant there was nothing to do. There were shifting social currents to watch, outlined by the swish of elegant dresses and shiny black shoes. There were people shooting her skeptical looks for wearing a suit—which Carolina had also had her doubts about, but Donut had reassured her that people would be too busy muttering about a woman in a suit to actually get a good look at her face.

“Besides,” he had said as he tied her tie in a more elaborate knot than she could have managed by herself. “You look like a cross between Natasha Romanoff and James Bond.”

Carolina’s ego, to her sensible side’s chagrin, had found that enormously appealing.

If she really didn’t have anything to watch, she could swap her comm over to the Reds and Blues channel to eavesdrop. And that was never boring.

Occasionally mind-numbingly idiotic, but never boring.

There was a soft _floomp_ from the stool next to her, and Carolina looked to the right to see York collapse back against the bar, one eye twinkling at her.

“This seat taken?”

She let herself smile into her wine glass and waved her other hand. “Help yourself.”

“Lovely.” Donut had worked some kind of magic with makeup to cover up the scars that ran by York’s bad eye, as well as to change the general shape of his face, but his grin was still distinctively his own. He raised his hand to call over the bartender, but Carolina coughed pointedly and tapped her cheek.

If Donut knew that she had defied his orders not to let York drink anything and risk mussing his extensive makeup, Carolina would be in just as much trouble. And she _liked_ this suit. She wanted to wear it again, and not whatever terrible evening gowns Donut was doubtless hiding somewhere in his giant disguise closet.

York gave a put-upon sigh, but lowered his hand.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Carolina murmured, keeping her eyes fixed forward. “You’re going to have to get up soon anyways. And no one wants to kiss someone who tastes like whiskey and olives.”

York groaned. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“ _Olives?”_ Wash’s voice crept into the conversation.

“York has terrible taste in alcohol,” Carolina said, ignoring York’s plaintive noise. “Shouldn’t you be monitoring the other half of this job?”

Wash’s groan was extensive. “ _Tucker’s trying to convince Caboose the computer system won’t be sad if he makes it let us in._ ”

Carolina was too well-trained to laugh at a fellow agent while undercover, but her lips curled up into an amused smile anyways. “You put up with this for two years on your own, Wash.”

“ _Don’t remind me_.”

“Tell Caboose the computer system will be sadder if we have to break something,” York suggested. “Whoops, I’m moving.” He slid to his feet and began to work his way around the room where an elegant woman had made her fashionably late entrance. York was the honeypot this time around. Carolina was there to make their other target scared, hopefully just in time to discover that the files he was supposed to be keeping safe had been broken into. That would make him run to whoever was pulling his strings, and should hand Chorus a nice tidy network to clean up.

Wash swapped off their comm channel to talk to Caboose, so Carolina changed over her own comm to check in with Grif.

“Ready to bail?” she asked, still keeping her voice down.

“ _Uhhh…almost._ ”

That was not Grif. That was Simmons, sounding very nervous.

“What do you mean by _almost?”_ she hissed.

“ _Grif started a poker game with the valets._ ”

“Tell him to _leave_.”

“ _I mean, I would, but…he’s winning. And they’re playing for information!”_

“I am going to kill all of you slowly,” Carolina mused, just as Tucker broke in.

“ _Fuck yeah! One thumb drive, all ready to go_.”

“Well, that drive doesn’t do us much good without a _driver_ ,” Carolina muttered.

“ _Uh oh._ ” And that was Wash, with a tone of voice years of partnership had taught Carolina was never, ever good.

“ _What?”_

“ _Security’s coming up the stairs. We’re gonna need a distraction to get out of here_.”

Carolina swapped over to the channel she was sharing with just York and Wash, and set down her wine glass. “York. We need a distraction, something that’ll draw security. Got any ideas?”

She could see him pause by a waiter with a tray of drinks, and glance around. “ _Well…one? But you might not like it._ ”

“I like our people getting caught even less. Do it.”

What followed was a truly impressive bit of sleight-of-hand Carolina could barely see from this distance, that ended with an entire tray of drinks tipping over onto—

“Oh, no,” she whispered, but she was trying very hard not to laugh.

The very same Mrs. Rothschild who had hosted the party where Carolina and York had first met stared directly at York and let out a shriek of glass-shattering proportions.

“ _YOU!”_

“ _And that’s my cue to leave,”_ York said over the comms.

“ _SECURITY!”_

Carolina watched with bated breath as York ran for the doors, half the security of the ballroom on his heels, until Wash came over the line to say, “ _That worked. We’re clear, heading out_.”

“Simmons, get Grif out of that game if you have to drag him by the ear,” Carolina said, leaving a tip on the bar and striding towards a window. Along the way, she managed to bump into her target and give him a terrifying grin, which ensured she had his attention for when she swung over the side of the balcony and vanished into the night. “My objective’s accomplished. Meet me by the road, once you’ve got York out of there.”

“ _You got it, Boss.”_

Carolina walked through the gardens, watching the lights of the ballroom through the windows, enjoying the chaos that had been left in their wake. This was never how Freelancer had run things, but she couldn’t deny it worked. Mostly.

“ _Actually,_ ” York said over the comms, “ _I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to the garage. I’ll meet you at the road too.”_

“ _Fine, fine—Grif, just go!_ ”

“ _Geez, I’m going, I’m_ going.”

Carolina shut off her comm, ears alert to the sound of anyone who might be sneaking up at her. No one was, though, and she made it all the way off the grounds and to the main gate on the road without incident.

York was waiting there, jacket slung over his arm and makeup starting to get patchy with sweat. His glass eye was looking in completely the wrong direction, but he still saw her coming.

“Well,” he said, offering the non-jacketed arm to her. “This was a good evening.”

“It wasn’t entirely unproductive,” Carolina allowed, taking it.

“Well, sure, if you want to talk work. But I just meant it was _fun_.”

Carolina let herself laugh for the first time all evening, as the two of them began walking down the road to wait for their ride. “That, too.”

They walked in silence for a moment, before Carolina mused, “You know what the best part is?”

“What?”

She poked him in the ribs with her free hand. “You went off mission, which means _you_ get to explain this to Kimball.”

York groaned, loudly. “Great.”

“I think it is.”

“And of course, you are never wrong.” They slowed to a stop as headlights came down the road, and York leaned over to press a soft kiss against her hair.

Carolina smiled, thinking of a time when she’d been sure she and the charming man she’d run into at a party would have no further association. “And don’t you forget it.”

She’d been wrong about that. But that had worked out pretty well, in the end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for eye trauma: York loses his eye in a different fashion from canon. Carolina patches it up afterwards. The sections to avoid are right after the "a loud crack, a scream like the ending of the world" section, and the first couple paragraphs of the one that starts "Carolina finished cleaning and bandaging the wound after York passed out."
> 
> I started with the knowledge that York and Carolina would be secret agents who had no clue the other person was also a secret agent and kept running into each other. I knew there would be a reveal, wasn't sure how it would go down. You have no idea how amused I was to realize I'd written a literal Chekov's gun. 
> 
> If anyone's wondering about Delta and Dog and Niner--Niner runs off with her girlfriend after Carolina goes missing, and Caboose befriends Dog in the park and ends up accidentally kidnapping Delta to come back with them. It's fine.
> 
> Title is from ["I'm Coming After You"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2nRC7Qgt18) by Owl City, which was on my playlist for this fic.
> 
> If you liked this, feel free to drop me a review below, or come find me on [Tumblr!](sroloc--elbisivni.tumblr.com)


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